


Sense and Memory

by icarus_chained



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Attraction, Companionship, Complicated Relationships, Feelings, Friendship/Love, Guilt, Interspecies Relationship(s), Introspection, M/M, Post-Zero Hour, Scents & Smells, moving forward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 17:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10667370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarus_chained/pseuds/icarus_chained
Summary: He'd read somewhere -he had a horrible suspicion it had been an interrogation manual- that smell was the sense most directly encoded with memory. Zeb had a verydistinctsmell, and it was weighted with a great deal more than memory.





	Sense and Memory

He'd read somewhere -he had a horrible suspicion it had been an interrogation manual- that smell was the sense most directly encoded with memory. That something learned via scent would be forever embedded in the mind, lurking, waiting for an echo to come back again. That nothing could trigger emotion faster than a familiar scent. 

From his own experience, Kallus couldn't deny that the idea had some merit. He knew he'd remember the smell of blood and burnt flesh, the chemical odour of explosives, until his dying day. He knew, too, that few things spurred his adrenalin faster than some echo of those smells, the sensations that came behind them. The _crump_ of the explosion itself, the wave of pressure following it. The cries of the wounded. That smell, always and ever. They were triggers, forever embedded inside him. They jogged a reaction every time. 

So there was something to the idea, he thought. Wherever he'd first read it, however unlaudable the source, there was some fragment of value to the theory. Scent, smell. The pathway to memory. It had merit. There was something ...

Lasats smelled. Quite strongly, though perhaps not as much as certain young jedi would have people believe. It was something Kallus had always been vaguely aware of. After Lasan, mostly. Not before. Those ... _other_ smells had overpowered it before. It hadn't made all that much impact on his memory. It had made more, after Lasan, but even then it had been ... Burnt flesh. Ozone. The smells of blood and death and disintegration. They were the earlier trigger. They overpowered so much else. But there had been a tinge. An odour, around the edges. Dead lasats didn't smell quite the same as dead humans. Neither did live ones.

And then Zeb. Defiantly alive, all the way down the line. Alive and fighting, always there, never surrendering. There were so many sensations attached to Zeb. There was that smell. That unique, distinctive scent. Strong. Lasat. Not _human_.

The thing about fighting in close quarters so often, the body did _learn_ sensations. It had little choice. Everything was keyed up, alert, aware, tracking everything that might give it an edge. Kallus recognised so much of Zeb. He knew his weight, his strength, his preferred movements. He knew what purple fur felt like against his knuckles, he knew the punishing density of heavy bones. His chest knew the imprint of splayed, alien feet. He knew the size of those hands around his, both harshly gripping and incongruously gentle. He knew the lasat, as physically and elementally as perhaps anyone could. 

And he knew the smell. His nose, his mind, his memory, all of them knew that smell.

It wasn't as ... as immediate as other smells in affecting him. It was more muddled, confused, less simple and efficient in its effect. He supposed that made sense. The base smell, lasat, meant horror, both for and at himself, but that smell had always been overridden by the others. Those memories were tied to something different. This smell, _Zeb_ , had tangled itself with other ones. This smell evoked ... other things. Equally confusing, terrifying things.

Excitement. First and foremost. Sight, sound and smell, Zeb punched excitement from him every time. Anticipation. Adrenalin. That was the _other_ thing about fighting in close quarters so often. Melee combat. It was like nothing else. There was no distance. Everything was immediate, present, _there_. Everything felt vivid, vital. And no one had ever fought him like Zeb. Not so often. Not so _close_. Everything inside Kallus keyed up instinctively at the sight of him, at the _smell_ of him. Joy, desperation, challenge, contempt. Even after everything, even with that part of him flattened down by later events, some bit of him still automatically wound up when Zeb was near. Some part of him was always aware, alert, tracking. Something unfurled, something hummed through his veins, every time.

And then guilt. And then cold, deep and icy and _aching_. Twinned and in quick succession, they followed the excitement. His leg ached in phantom reminder, the way his chest did at the smell of explosives. Not quite as instinctively, though. The cold itself had dampened Zeb's smell on Bahryn, so the memory was only partly called by it. It was one Kallus thought he consciously prodded into place as much as the memory prodded him. It was necessary, though. It was something that needed remembering. Cold, and pain, and Zeb. Truth, as bitter as the ice itself. And something else. Something following, something so much more confusing again.

Warmth. The rock in his hands, pulsing warmly. Safety. Companionship. Those huge hands, so suddenly gentle. The cold in his leg throbbing a counterpoint to the warmth in his hands. A freezing overhang, barely shelter, the shivers shuddering constantly through him. Warmth. In his hands and at his back. That smell, thicker and closer in the tiny huddle they'd made to wait for salvation. Rich and warm and inhuman. Lasat. Zeb.

It was such a ... a tangled ball of things. That smell. Those emotions. Horror and guilt and excitement and warmth. Comfort. Purpose. Safety. All of them constant. You'd think exposure would weaken the effect. He'd _hoped_ exposure would weaken the effect. Distance hadn't, not since Bahryn, but he hoped that presence, near and constant, would ...

But it didn't. If anything, it strengthened the reaction instead. Quarters on the Ghost were so close. So strange, too, so alien and new. Possibly some instinct had simply latched on to anything familiar, but Kallus had been more conscious of Zeb here, his presence and his smell, than he ever had been before. He'd found himself drawn to it. Found himself clinging to it. He did try not to be obvious about it. He was careful not to touch, careful not to look. Not often, not enough to draw attention. There was that advantage to smell. It wasn't obvious. It only required attention and some physical proximity. All Kallus had to do was lean on a wall near Zeb and close his eyes. He'd hoped no one had noticed. He'd hoped to keep it to himself.

He really should have known better. He was on a ship with two jedi, for a start. And it turned out Zeb wasn't exactly oblivious either. Lasats weren't human. It should have meant more to him that it did. He should have remembered. Lasats gave a different priority to scent than humans did. Or maybe Zeb had simply noticed Kallus following him.

"You all right?" the lasat asked, hand warm and huge on Kallus' shoulder, suspicion and concern in about equal measure in his expression. Kallus blinked up at him. So close, without the adrenalin of a fight to distract him, the smell was so powerful. Or it seemed that it was. He wasn't sure how reliable his senses were, suddenly. He wasn't sure how much was real, and how much had gotten tangled in ... other things. Memories. The emotions that came with them. 

He could see how this could be useful in interrogation, he thought idly. He could see why it might have warranted a mention in some manual somewhere.

"... You smell rather strongly," he heard himself say. From a distance, but not enough of one. He winced at Zeb's expression, and clamped his mouth hastily shut again. Though perhaps a fight might be good for him at this point. A jolt of adrenalin might knock his mind back into the present. That could only be to the good.

"Not you as well," Zeb groaned in dismay, his hand tightening around Kallus' shoulder. " _Humans_. You and Ezra, I swear. But what are you doing following me around, then? If it's that unpleasant for you, you'd think you'd be on the other side of the ship!"

He growled, shaking Kallus a bit in aggravation. The sensation shorted something, tripped over some circuit in his head. Though probably he'd been mostly there already. This was just the last surge, breaking the dam, and knocking the truth helplessly past his lips.

"It's not unpleasant," he said. Emptily, distantly, enough that Zeb fell still in renewed concern. And renewed suspicion, too, but Kallus couldn't blame him there. He'd have been suspicious of himself, if he'd been present enough to manage it right now. "I don't ... I don't know what it is, but it's not unpleasant. Your smell. It's ... not unpleasant."

And something must have come out in that. Something more than just the words, as stupid and useless as they were. Zeb reared back, up to his full height above Kallus, and wasn't _that_ an interesting sensation as well. That ball of emotion pulsed hard in his stomach. Excitement, somewhere strange and far away. Horror, too. And that other, that strange, conflicting thing. That warmth. Zeb squinted at him in sudden, half-panicked suspicion, and all Kallus could do was stare helplessly back at him, and let whatever it was he was feeling, this thing he didn't recognise himself, wander at its leisure across his face. 

"What the ...?" Zeb murmured at him, low and dismayed. "Kallus? What the _hell_?"

And that wasn't right either. It wasn't right to burden Zeb with this. Or with anything. The scales of debt were already buried irrevocably on Kallus' side of the equation, without making the lasat deal with this as well. Whatever ... whatever 'this' was. Something more than a smell. Something more than a memory as well. It wasn't quite adrenalin, but the realisation was a jolt anyway.

"Don't worry," he said quickly. Straightening himself up, reaching up to grip Zeb's wrist, the hand still balanced on his shoulder. "I'm not ... It's not for you. Don't worry. I'll figure it out. I just ... It's strong. I haven't gotten used to it yet. It's just ... very strong. That's all."

It wasn't much of a reassurance, admittedly, but it was the best he could scrape together at the minute. Zeb's ears flicked, his head tilting as he eyed Kallus warily. Kallus grimaced up at him in turn, his hands spreading helplessly out from his sides. Every part of him was aware of Zeb right now. Sight, sound and smell. Sensation. The height, the warmth, the strangeness. The scent. He didn't know what to do about it. He didn't know what it _was_.

"... You know," Zeb said, very cautiously and after a very, very long moment. "You know, on Lasan ... on Lasan, smell was part of how we'd know our mate. Part of what we'd look for. A scent that's ... not unpleasant. I didn't think humans did it that way, though. I didn't think it worked that way for you."

"... It doesn't," Kallus managed. Faintly, as the word 'mate' echoed around his head and a gaping pit seemed to open up beneath his feet. "It doesn't. It's ... memory. Smell is memory. It triggers memories. Feelings. And you ..."

Zeb paused at that. Seemed to try and work out what to do with it. "I make you remember things?" he tried eventually, brows lowered and sceptical. "No offence, but I didn't think there was that much to remember. Less again _pleasant_."

For either of us, was the unspoken rider. Kallus heard it. He had to agree with it as well.

"I know," he said. Helplessly, yet again, his hands curling gently into fists. "I know. It doesn't make sense. It's all ... confused. But. But I ..." He closed his eyes. Took a deep breath. Smelled warmth, yet again. Warmth and pain and truth, and maybe freedom, somewhere behind it. Zeb. It was a lot to pull from just a smell. It was more than just the physical sense. It was all in his head, he did know that. His head, and his stomach, and his chest as well. He opened his eyes again. "I wouldn't be here if not for you. I wouldn't know who I was, who I am. I wouldn't know what I'd _lost_. I wouldn't have known to fight to get it back. I know those things because of you. I remember them. It's not ... pleasant. I don't think it can be. But it's not _un_ pleasant either. It's ... important. You ... smell important to me."

And of all things Kallus had ever said in all his life, that _had_ to be among the most ridiculous. The most _true_ , also, but definitely the most ridiculous. It was alien. All of it. Everything about them, about Zeb, about the rebels, it was all alien to him. None of it made sense. But it was, without doubt, the most important nonsense he'd ever come across.

Maybe more than just him as well. Zeb seemed to _understand_ that. As ridiculous as it was, Zeb seemed to understand it. His ears perked up, his shoulders relaxed. His hand felt warm and heavy on Kallus' shoulder. 

"Important, huh?" he repeated, a low rumble in his chest. A faint, disbelieving smile crept across his face. "I smell important. To a _human_. Never thought I'd ever hear that. Then again, never thought I'd hear a lot of things. Are you sure you're not part lasat? Between this and the fighting, I do have to wonder sometimes."

Kallus stared at him. "... I'm sure," he managed eventually. Distantly, a bit of the ice he forced himself to remember slipping into it. Ice and death. "I think I'm glad of it, all things considered. I'd rather be an enemy than a traitor. At least on that scale. It's ... at least a little bit easier to live with."

Zeb sobered again at that. Of course he did. Anyone would. Zeb, though, most of all. He had most reason. All the reason in the universe.

"... I'm not gonna talk to you about that," the lasat said quietly, after another long second. "I can't, okay? That's on you. That's for you to deal with. You and me, Lasan, that's done for me. Did all the talking I was planning on back on that moon. Yeah?" Kallus nodded hastily, and Zeb changed the grip he had on Kallus' shoulder. Lowered his hand, trailed it down to hold Kallus' arm instead. Squeezed reassuringly. "I'm gonna say this, though. You're not an enemy now. Or a traitor either, whatever the Empire might say about it. And that ... does matter." He snorted faintly. "Not pleasant, right? But not _un_ pleasant either. It matters. And, I guess, so do you. Just, you know. A little bit."

He grimaced, ducking his head uneasily, his ears flicking back against his skull. Uncomfortable. Warm and strange and important. Kallus ducked his own head, a faint smile flickering on his lips. He recognised an olive branch when he saw one, and a distraction as well. He took both of them gladly. 

"Do I smell as well, then?" he asked lightly. Letting himself raise his head, letting the smile show openly. "Important, I mean. Do I smell a little bit important as well?"

Zeb stared at him for a long minute. Seriously, so much more seriously than Kallus had expected. He loomed so large. So close. His presence filled so much space, carried so much weight. His smell was a wall, warm and engulfing. And he took the question seriously, and answered a lot more thoughtfully than Kallus was sure he deserved.

"You know what?" he said, slow and thoughtful. "You just might. Can't be sure yet. It's harder to tell when you're a human. But you just might at that."

And oh, Kallus thought. Feeling that phantom pit open up beneath his feet once again. Oh.

Wasn't _that_ a sensation as well.


End file.
